


to the thawing wind

by meridies



Series: december prompt week [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detroit: Become Human Fusion, Case Fic, Flirting, M/M, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28160136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridies/pseuds/meridies
Summary: "Well?" George prompted. "Amaze me, wonder boy."or, George is a lieutenant tasked with what could be the biggest case of his career, Dream is a detective with a terrible secret, and they're forced to work together.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: december prompt week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062995
Comments: 66
Kudos: 688
Collections: Dream Team Safespace Prompt Week 2020





	to the thawing wind

**Author's Note:**

> prompt for today was sweaters/frostbite, and as usual i got carried away. title is from a robert frost poem by the same name. enjoy!

**_November 15th, 2042_ **

The coffee that morning was too bitter.

Someone, likely Sapnap, hadn’t done a good enough job at cleaning out the filter. George was practically chewing the coffee grounds at this point. In irritation, George attempted remedying it with cream and sugar, but that damn near ruined the taste. Now he had a shitty cup of coffee that did nothing to ease his exhaustion, nor placate his frustration. George set it to the side to cool down to eventually toss out for composting. 

The 19th precinct of the Detroit Police Department that morning was suspiciously quiet. George attempted a last sip of his coffee before finding it too awful to even consider. He glanced at the clock; the time read nine forty three. That was seventeen minutes before the new transfer was due to arrive, then.

As newly appointed Lieutenant, George had been assigned to mentor the new kid. To be precise, he wasn’t exactly a kid. According to his chart, he was taller than George himself. But he was a new transfer from the Eighty-Seventh Precinct, newly shifting over to the precinct to help with the new caseloads. 

According to the file and database, the new transfer had spent four years in the academy and three years at the 87th precinct. He had assisted with a few cases, solved one serial android murder case, resulting in his promotion to detective, and most curiously, there was an entire section about a previous case partner that was simply labeled  **_REDACTED._ **

George read over the file again, although nothing had changed— it was a normal report, but a previous case partner must have done something bad to be removed from the force so completely. Maybe he would get the chance to ask the new transfer about it, once they got to know each other a bit more.

“Heya, Georgie,” Sapnap said, and leaned against George’s desk. “Ready for today?”

“That’s Lieutenant to you,” George said, and Sapnap grinned.

“Lighten up. I’m sure he’ll be decent.” 

“I’m not worried about a new partner,” George said firmly. “I’m just looking forward to getting to know him.” 

“You always say that,” Sapnap mused. “What was your whole thing about becoming a lieutenant? Boosting team morale?”

“Yes,” George muttered. And a fat lot of good that had done for the team— so far, they were still just as polite with one another as they had been when he first transferred over. 

At the very least, George had his set group of acquaintances— there was Sapnap, who had been friends with him in the academy, and there was Wilbur, a detective who had transferred from the 21st precinct a few months before George had. When he wasn’t busy poring over paperwork down in the evidence rooms, Karl would show up in the break room for coffee. They were a small precinct in terms of people George genuinely interacted with, but they had a friendly dynamic running. 

“Look on the bright side,” Sapnap advised. “I think a new transfer will be good, right?”

“Right,” George said. “It’ll be nice to have a partner again, I suppose.”

In dramatics, Sapnap clapped a hand to his chest. “Was I not good enough for you?” 

“You were great,” George said. “I never get any work done when you’re around, though.”

Sapnap grinned. “Is that my cue to leave?” 

George, for the millionth time in the hour, checked his watch. The time ticked closer to ten; the new detective should have arrived any minute, if all went well. 

“No,” George sighed, “You can stay.” 

Sapnap hummed but said nothing. He leaned his hip against George’s desk and flicked through the file, still projected in holographics above his desk. 

“They say he’s an android expert,” Sapnap said, as if it’s an offhand statement. “Wilbur and I were talking about it earlier.”

“Ah.”

“That’s why they’re moving him over here.”

“Really?”

“That’s what Wilbur thinks, at least,” Sapnap waved a hand.

“Wasn’t the 87th working with CyberLife?”

“They were,” Sapnap confirmed. “Makes you question why they’re shifting all the cases to one precinct, right?”

“It makes sense,” George’s words came slowly, “To have all your best detectives in one case, especially if you want to centralize cases.”

“Wonder why he transferred, then.”

The holographic display, unused, went dark and flickered out. George didn’t bother bringing it back up. He and Sapnap have read everything they needed. 

The clock hit ten.

“He should be here any minute,” George said, and glanced at his wristwatch, “They said ten, right?” 

“Think so,” Sapnap said. “Ping me when he arrives. I have an investigation to get to.” 

“Exciting,” George said dryly. 

“Not exciting,” Sapnap corrected. “I’ll just have an entire gigabyte of data to pore through when I’m done. We’re on lunch for today?”

“If I’m hungry by then.”

Sapnap grinned. “Excellent.”

Then his gaze focused behind George, and with two fingers, Sapnap gestured in the direction of the door. “Wonder boy is here, apparently.”

George grimaced. He crossed two fingers for luck, which Sapnap snorted at, and turned to go greet his new partner. The new recruit was standing with his back to the rest of the precinct, talking to the receptionist. George opened his mouth, about to introduce himself, and in the next moment, he turned around. 

“Hi,” he said, and held out a hand politely. “I’m Detective Holland.” 

George flicked his gaze up and down, and stuck a hand out as well. 

“Hi,” he said, “I’m Lieutenant Harrison, but you can call me George.”

“George,” he repeated. “In that case, you can call me Dream.” 

“Nice to meet you,” George said. “Welcome to the 19th Precinct, it’s great to have you here.”

Detective Dream Holland, George could already tell, looked like he was designed to be every police officer’s wet dream. Tall, shoulders filled out, eyes curious and interrogating but kind, blond hair slicked back with a single cowlick falling down over his forehead. He looked better in person than in his ID photo, which George has been staring at for the last week. In person his freckles were much more pronounced, same with that full lower lip, and the green of his eyes was brighter. 

George cleared his throat. “I’ll show you where you’ll be sitting, then?” 

“Sounds wonderful,” Dream said, and George crossed through the busy precinct towards his own desk in the back of the room. 

“So,” George said, feeling as though he should make polite conversation, “Are you excited to be in the 19th?”

“It’s nice,” Dream said. “Of course I’ll miss my friends back at the 87th.”

It sounded like a sound byte given to a reporter rather than a real response. 

“Did you have any good friends?” George pressed. “I can introduce you to people around the precinct, if you’d like.”

Now Dream looked vaguely uneasy. George wondered if he was a social person or if it was just his facade of politeness, being worn for the first day in a new place. 

“I had a few,” he said. “We weren’t the closest, though.”

George hummed. “Hopefully you can make a few good ones here.”

The barest smile, more polite than happy. “I’m sure I will.”

George cleared his throat and turned his attention to the stack of paperwork, resting on the corner of his desk. Out of the corner of his eye, George watched Dream flick through things. He was meticulously organized. George wanted to undo his tie, just the slightest. Anything to make him look less stiff. 

By lunchtime, George was truly and thoroughly bored, despite the novelty of Dream sitting across from him. His files of paperwork had only grown larger, documents stretching well over dozens of pages, but there weren’t any new advancements in cases, and thus George’s eyes were heavy and tired by the time Sapnap arrived at his desk. 

“Lunch?” he asked preemptively, without glancing towards Dream at all. “On me.”

George rubbed at his eyes miserably. “You know me so well, don’t you?” 

“Always,” Sapnap said graciously, and extended a hand. Finally he spared a glance towards Dream, who still had his head bent over, writing something. He didn’t look up at them once, not until Sapnap cleared his throat purposely loud. Dream capped his pen with precise movements, and then looked up. 

“Hi,” Sapnap said, “I’m Sapnap, by the way.”

Dream didn’t extend a hand. “I’m Dream Holland. George told me about you.”

George mouthed  _ only the good things.  _ Sapnap’s glance was still skeptical, but he shrugged.

“I’m stealing your new partner for an hour or so,” he said, “Is that alright with you?”

Dream shrugged. “I don’t think it matters whether I say yes or no, right?”

Sapnap cracked a smile. “That’s the spirit. I think we’ll get along swell.”

“Come on,” George muttered, “Let’s go.”

Dream watched the two of them leave with no comment. Sapnap glanced back at him curiously and whispered, under his breath, “He’s a little odd, isn’t he?”

George smacked Sapnap’s arm. “He’s new. I think he’s a little shy.”

“Wonderful,” Sapnap sighed, tone laced with sarcasm, “You’re saddled with a  _ shy police detective.  _ What kind of person is that?”

“He seems nice,” George says. “We’ve known him for four hours. I think it’s morally wrong to make any snap judgements now.”

Sapnap hummed but said nothing. He only slipped into the driver’s seat of his car, an old, beat up sedan, and waited for George to slide in as well. 

He treated him to gyros and peach soda for lunch, sticky and sweet. George shivered at the winter breeze— he could feel snow on the horizon, threatening to spill, but the weather said nothing of the sort. 

George pulled his coat tighter around himself and listened to Sapnap talk, endlessly into the open air. 

* * *

His apartment that night was cold, clean, and regrettably, very empty. 

The only thing he looked forward to is his cat, who purred and arched against his leg. She meowed, and George winced at the knowledge that he had left her alone for the last few days.

“Hi, baby,” he mumbled, and reached down to scratch her head. “Sorry for leaving you alone so long.”

She meowed, and George was grateful that he had the foresight to buy an automatic feeder, litter box cleaner, and a very friendly Roomba who cleaned up the stray cat fur and litter that she spilled. Otherwise his house would most definitely be a mess.

The Roomba in question whirred around the corner. Its LED was blinking a bright yellow, a signal that something was amiss.

“What’s up with you, huh?” 

George followed it back to its charging station, and saw that its sensor was blocked with dust particles. He really should have thought about investing in a new one, shouldn’t he? The newer models were all self-cleaning and didn't require much maintenance. 

Carefully George brushed it off, checked its battery level, and found its mini LED spinning bright blue. Good, then. It was still working well despite not being home for the last twenty hours.

“There you go,” George murmured, and watched the Roomba spin off towards his bedroom. The faint blue of its LED vanished around the corner, and his cat followed with a purr of interest. Even George returning from work couldn’t shake her interest with it. 

George left his briefcase on the sofa, but fished out the chip from his pocket with Dream’s file on it. It was oddly heavy in his hand. 

With a faint sense of curiosity, George plugged the USB into his computer. The holographic screen lit up his entire apartment with blue. 

_ Dream W. Holland. DOB 08/12/2011.  _

That was relatively young for the police force. George was only a few years older himself. 

He scrolled down the rest of the page. He went to private school until college, where he was enrolled in community college for two years; from there, he transferred to the academy. Out of curiosity George looked up his high school and found it shut down, only a few years after Dream attended. 

Both of Dream’s parents were deceased. George made a mental note to not make any crass jokes around him. 

He scrolled further down. Top marks in the academy— expected from someone who Sapnap had sarcastically called the  _ Golden Boy of Detroit.  _ George flicked through the rest of it and paused on a slide. 

Again, there it was.  **_REDACTED._ ** The entire section about a previous case partner, completely blacked out. Did that have to do with his sudden transfer? 

George hummed. He was a lieutenant, wasn’t he? What were the odds he had the security clearance to view whatever was redacted?

He logged in with his credentials. Reloaded Dream’s file and found, to his dismay, that the names were still blacked out. That was curious, wasn’t it? 

The hologram wavered in the air for a moment, revealing none of its secrets.

Around his feet, George’s cat meowed. She reached a paw up to bat his leg, demanding attention. 

“I know,” George murmured, both to her and half to himself, and closed the file. The blue light winked out. “Not my business.”

His cat meowed, as if understanding at all what he was saying.

The USB stick sat on his table, mysterious, and George could have sworn that it was calling his name.

* * *

**_November 28th, 2042_ **

Monday dawned bright and early and brought the promising beginnings of a new case. 

“This one is looking big,” Wilbur said, and threw something onto George’s desk. “Double homicide in an apartment downtown.”

“Androids?” George asked, already reaching for it though he knew what Wilbur’s answer would be. He inserted the chip into his computer and waited for the file to load up, blue disc spinning. 

“Yes,” Wilbur said, and then: “But they’re the victims.”

George paused. The file loaded. He flicked through it experimentally— on Rosier Boulevard, a double homicide of two androids— and he felt his curiosity begin to spike. 

“When was this?”

“A few hours ago. They’ve already got policemen from the 66th there, but you and Dream are the lucky partners who got assigned to the case.”

“Got what?”

George’s eyes flicked to Dream, who had just entered the precinct. Instead of his usual slimming suit, he was in a deep green sweater, dark jeans, white collar peeking out. His freckles were oddly bright against the green. For a moment George wondered what the sweater felt like— wanted to pull it right off Dream’s chest. 

George realized that he had been staring for just a minute too long. He cleared his throat and set his computer screen to  _ project—  _ it illuminated a holographic display of the entirety of the crime scene. 

“New case,” George said, swallowing down his thoughts. “This looks like it could be a good one, couldn’t it?”

Dream stared at the projection, eyes scanning quickly over everything, and then he nodded. “When are we heading out?”

“I’ll grab the squad car,” George said. “Five minutes?”

Dream gave him a thumbs up, and George was out of his seat, grabbing his coat and nearly forgetting to push his chair back in. The beginnings of a case were sparking through his nervous system, sending ripples through his entire frame. Getting assigned to a new case gave him a rush like nothing else could— all of his mind was focused on the information he was receiving. 

Dream met him in the parking lot, coat half buttoned. “I can drive, if you want.” 

“Excellent,” George said; he caught the file that Dream tossed at him, and slid into the passenger seat. “Let’s debrief, then?”

Dream spurred the car into motion. The engine thrummed to life beneath his feet as George opened to the first page of the document. 

“Double homicide,” George said, “Earlier this morning, in an apartment on the seventieth floor downtown.”

“What district?” 

“West,” George said. 

“Any witnesses?”

“No one was home except for the two android assistants,” George said. “At least, that’s what the family claims.”

Dream hummed. “Who else is in the family?”

“It’s a typical nuclear family,” George wrinkled his nose, “Mother, father, older brother, younger sister.” 

“And none of them were at home?”

“I think first responders have done some questioning, but brother and sister were at school, and parents were at work.” 

“So they all have an alibi?”

“In theory,” George said, and left it at that. 

Downtown Detroit was a gorgeous place; morning sunlight spilled through the tinted windows of their squad car, and shone off the glossy buildings. Self driving cars, smooth and windowless, maneuvered through the streets. Dream pulled to a swift stop, in the moments before someone stepped out into the street, and George blinked.

“You drive so well,” George said in admiration. “Seriously, who taught you to drive, an android?”

Dream laughed. “I’m a terrible driver, I don’t know why you would think that.”

“Stop being so humble,” George groused, “It’s not a good look.”

Before long, they arrived at the apartment. It was a long and slow ride to the top floors, and George’s hands tapped impatiently at his side. Dream stared out the glass, motionless, and George ran through every piece of information that he was given.

_ Four family members. Two androids. No confirmed alibis. _

“We’re here,” Dream said, and the elevator doors slid open. 

George stepped out into the crime scene, feeling his brain begin to buzz to life again. 

Faintly, he recognized Dream introducing the two of them as  _ Detective Holland and Lieutenant Harrison, DPD,  _ and they shouldered past the two beat cops standing at the doorway.

The apartment was much more gruesome in person than it was over the holographic projection, back in the precinct. George’s shoulders tensed up at the sight, and he glanced over at Dream to make sure that his partner was okay. 

Dream had the same cool, level-headed expression that he wore at the precinct when he’d rather avoid talking to people, and he bent down to examine a shard of glass on the floor. From a flower vase, smashed to pieces Water soaked through the carpeting and stained the flooring. 

Even worse than the water staining, though, was the sickly smears of blue, splattered across the walls. The thirium pumps in an android functioned precisely like a human heart, and George could recognize the splatters. It looked as if whoever committed the murder tried to clean it up, but poorly. The streaks remained, scrubbed away with a mistrained hand, dragged around the household. 

The holographic tape flickered. George stepped through it evenly and came to a stop. His throat felt slimy, coated in nausea. Crime scenes didn’t usually affect him anymore, but this was something wholly different.

Who slaughters two androids?

“Any information?” he asked.

Dream was the one who moved first. He crouched down, a pair of latex gloves already on, and examined the two bodies. “They’re common housekeeper models.”

“What are their serial codes?”

Dream read out the complex, individual series of numbers inside the service panel, on the androids’ left wrists, while George jotted it down. It required a bit of complicated machinery to figure it out, and excluding the fizz of jittery interest George felt at the prospect of solving another case, his mind devoted a tiny part of itself to how quickly Dream figured out the androids’ machinery. 

“Lieutenant,” Dream murmured, “Are you seeing this?”

George took a step closer and crouched down next to Dream, knees digging into the tarp. He ignored the twisted, macabre bodies and looked closer at their forearms, where Dream was gesturing to. 

A peculiar expression was on his face. “What about it?”

George felt slightly queasy. He tried not to look too intensely, but Dream didn’t give him that option, nor care the slightest about his discomfort.

“They’re drained of thirium,” Dream said. “That’s unusual.”

“Of— what?”

“Thirium,” Dream said, “Keep up.” 

“Thirium,” George repeated, and the name came back to him— thirium was a biocomponent in CyberLife’s androids, keeping their synthetic organs alive and running. “Go on.”

“But what’s strange is that they were interfacing,” Dream said, and his eyes lit up with the same intense curiosity in George’s, the thrill of a mystery. “But what information was so important that they had to pass it right as they were murdered?” 

“Interfacing?” George asked. 

“Interfacing is a form of communication only for androids,” Dream said, sounding as if he were reading it off of a dictionary entry. “It involves placing the palms of your hands together with your skin off in order to connect each other’s memory databases and pass information to each other. It’s much slower over encrypted networks. That’s why they never finished.” 

“Ah,” George said, only mildly understanding. “So… why would they be interfacing, then? What information do they have to pass along?”

“That’s the question, Lieutenant,” Dream said, and straightened up. “I think back at the station, I could figure it out. I don’t have the resources here.”

George cocked his head at him curiously. “It’s that simple?”

Dream cleared his throat. “At the Eighty-Seventh, one of my partners was a prototype android. He— it taught me many things about how androids function.”

That answer only ignited George’s curiosity more. “Wait— you had an android as a partner?”

Dream shot him an even look. “Yes. What did I just say?”

“But I didn’t even know that androids could do that,” George said, amazed, “They just— let it into the police station?”

“It was programmed to hunt deviants,” Dream said, “Of course they let it in. Why are we talking about this? I can tell you my whole tragic backstory later.” 

George frowned. He wanted to know more, but he wanted to figure out the case in front of him first. His nausea had disappeared from his stomach, replaced with the biting hunger of a mystery. 

“It’s good that they were interfacing, right?” he asked. “It means that the snatches of info are still there.”

“It’s tragic,” Dream corrected. “They felt each other die.”

George blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Dream said, but there was a low tone to his voice. “Oh.” 

“Androids don’t feel pain,” George murmured, “Right?”

“It’s debated.” 

“But they’re just—” For lack of a better word, George said, “Just robots.”

“Robots that can think for themselves,” Dream corrected. 

“They’re not supposed to think for themselves.”

“Deviants can,” Dream said.

George tilted his head curiously at him. “But deviants are dangerous. That’s the thing.”

Dream hummed. He looked back at the two androids, hands pressed together, faces and eyes blank. There was something odd in his expression, something unreadable. 

“Regardless,” he said, “I hope things get better for them.”

George frowned but said nothing. It was a weird statement to make about two androids— two androids that didn’t have the capacity to think for themselves, to have emotions, to feel at all. What was  _ getting better  _ for something that had no mind of its own? 

George cleared his throat. He directed his mind back to the investigation and stood up. Dream was already up, standing and pacing around the remainder of the apartment. Listlessly he prodded through every piece of evidence, even the unreturned tax forms on the table, before spinning back to George.

“You know what I think?” he said. “I think this wasn’t an act of malice. This was intentional.”

George surveyed the room again. It was mostly clear of forensics individuals, although hushed voices still carried across to them. He turned from the grisly murder scene back to Dream.

“How so?”

“They’re drained of thirium,” Dream said. “That only leads to one thing.”

“So it’s connected to red ice,” George said, intentionally keeping his voice even. 

Dream nodded tensely. “There’s a bigger issue here.”

Red ice was the recent drug of choice circulating in Detroit’s criminal underbelly. A synthetic stimulant that was highly addictive— and composed of thirium, the lifeblood of androids. More and more murders were popping up with a link to the drug. It seemed that everything was leading back to red ice. 

“Do you think this connects to the android murders from last week?” George muttered quietly, as soon as they were out of earshot of everyone else in the room. “It seems likely, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think we can rule it out,” Dream said. “Those murders had a clear link to red ice.”

“I’ll have to talk to Wilbur and Karl about that,” George muttered, and frowned. Wilbur and Karl were the ones who had handled the last case of android murders; they were found similarly stripped for parts and drained of thirium.

George’s mind was doing what it did best— organizing and sorting information into easily understood, recognizable capsules. There were many things to consider, but the most sickening was the idea that red ice was a booming business. Detroit police did their best to handle the spread of it, but there were only so many places that they could reach, and there were more places that they couldn’t. 

The issue with red ice is that it was highly toxic and dangerous, sending people prone to aggression into flying fits of violence. More than one accidental android murder was linked to the owner’s copious use of red ice. Although, as George knew better than anyone, there wasn’t much they could do with those cases. Androids, despite being uncannily humanlike, never had the same rights as humans, and likely never would. It was curious that whoever had found the androids’ bodies— the two in front of them, hands pressed together, eyes glazed and unseeing— had reported it to the Detroit police instead to CyberLife, who would simply provide them with two replacements. 

Interrogations and questions flew by, drifting like the wind past George. Dream handled everything professionally, and took copious notes where George was still thinking. In the drive back to the precinct, Dream talked out loud and at length about his suspicions. George confirmed them; some alibis didn’t like up, and there was something suspicious about the jilted vase of flowers and the affair the mother was clearly having, that lined up with the timing. 

The one issue was—

“Their memories are all mixed,” Dream said, not for the first time. “If they hadn’t been interfacing—”

George sighed wearily. “We’ll have to do the best with what we have. I’m sure CyberLife could send a professional over to help.” 

“We don’t need a CyberLife person,” Dream said. “I can do my best.”

“You’re just a detective,” George commented, “Wouldn’t it be better if you left the forensics to the team? I work better if I have someone I can speak to in real life.” 

“Trust me,” Dream said, and his eyes were eerily firm. “When we get back, I just need a few hours to myself in the evidence room. I’ll do my best to have answers after that.”

George eyed him suspiciously. There was something odd about the fervency in Dream’s eyes, but then again, who was George to argue? If Dream thought he could handle something better than a CyberLife professional, then George trusted him. He could always speak his thought process aloud to Sapnap, who was always more than willing to help with George’s cases.

He and Sapnap used to be partners, before George was promoted to Lieutenant. Sapnap turned down his own promotion, for reasons that he had never shared with George, but he suspected that it had something to do with the increased responsibilities. Being a Lieutenant meant that there were less opportunities for fun around the precinct; more than once, George had to tell his best friend off for a prank that would surely turn from harmless into danger. 

Dream pulled smoothly into the parking lot and stepped out of the car. True to his word, George let him take the stairs downward, two at a time, instead of taking the elevator up to the seventh floor, where George’s desk was. 

There was something about the man that was compelling, in a sense. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t put it into words. But the feverish glow behind Dream’s eyes and the fire on his skin called to George. He seemed more human than George could ever be. 

The question itched under his skin as George took a seat on his desk. He couldn’t entirely place a reason as to why. The crime scene earlier was sticking in his mind like old tar, gummy and thick. It wouldn’t scratch. Any time George blinked, he saw those two androids curled together, like they were the last thing they had left in the world. It was eerily human.

George didn’t like thinking of androids as human. They weren’t. That was the distinction to make.

_ They felt each other die, _ Dream’s voice echoed.

Faintly, George wondered if Dream was right. 

He returned to the evidence room in a matter of hours, after sorting through the piles of paperwork taller than he was. They hadn’t uploaded everything to the database yet, and George was hardly used to working with such physical things. It was strange to come down into the evidence room and see that Dream had been working the same way. 

Dream was standing in the middle of the evidence room, white gloves stained with blue but a pleased smile on his face. The holographic database was open in the centre of the room, and steadily Dream was uploading data onto it. 

“Well?” George prompted, leaning against the door. “Amaze me, wonder boy.”

He didn’t think he was imagining the way Dream’s eyes widened at the phrase, the way his throat clicked as he swallowed. He cleared his throat hastily and started talking.

“I think they were connecting their memories,” Dream said. “Well, they  _ were.  _ But something interrupted them before they could finish interfacing, which was the murder. So I have an exact time and an exact moment. We don’t know who killed them, but we  _ do  _ know that the information they were trying to pass can be recovered.”

“So can we get it?” George says. 

“Their memory files are corrupted because of the lack of thirium to their control processing centers, but I think I’ve got a decent amount decrypted,” Dream said. His eyes were bright. “I put every clip I could get onto a video chip, and uploaded that into the system. It should be added onto the case file by now.” 

“Excellent,” George breathed, “You’re incredible, aren’t you?”

Dream flushed. “That’s one way of putting it, yes.”

“Seriously,” George said, “That’s incredible. This could mean a breakthrough with the red ice case.”

Dream ducked his head. “I’ll pass the information along.” 

“Please do,” George breathed. “Really, I can’t believe it only took you a few hours. I called CyberLife while I was waiting— don’t give me that look, it was a precaution— and they said the soonest they could dispatch someone was in forty eight hours. This is astonishing, really.”

“I’m good at what I do,” Dream said, with a mild shrug. “There’s a reason I’m here, right?”

“Yeah,” George breathed, an odd stirring in his stomach. “I guess there is.” 

* * *

“Heading back home?” George said at the end of the night. Evening had long fallen over Detroit, though fog clouded out any stars from appearing. Winter had laid its thick chill over the world. Frost would surely line the pavement when George woke up.

Dream hummed. “Yeah. I might take some casework, though, see if I can get any more ideas at home.”

The idea flashed into George’s mind suddenly, and he didn’t hesitate before blurting it out. 

“Wanna come and grab something to eat with Sapnap and I tonight?”

He stopped, looked up at George. “Um… why?” 

“Because it would be nice to get to know you outside of work,” George said. He wasn’t sure why the concept of making friends always seemed so foreign to Dream. “You’re going to be working with the precinct for a while, might as well get to know us, right?” 

“If you’re sure,” Dream said, sounding doubtful. 

“Of course I’m sure,” George said, “We haven’t done anything outside of work, I think both Sapnap and I want to get to know you.”

It was the strangest thing; George could have sworn there was a flash of panic, sharper and hotter than lightning, crossing Dream’s face.

Then the expression faded; back in its place was cool neutrality, the same expression that rarely left.

“Sure,” Dream said, “Sounds fine by me.”

A few hours later finds the three of them in a corner booth, in one of Detroit’s underground pizza restaurants. Lanterns swing from the ceilings and George leans back against the exposed brick, winter jacket gathered around his side. He and Sapnap used to come to this place, enough so that the owner knows their orders. He faltered slightly seeing Dream enter, but offered him the same gracious smile as always. The three of them tucked in together

“You know a lot about androids,” Sapnap said, by way of starting conversation, and jerked a thumb over to George. “Georgie here was telling me about that whole thing in the evidence room today, he was really impressed by it.”

George kicked Sapnap under the table. Sapnap kicked back. Dream pretended not to notice. 

“Yeah,” Dream admitted. “You could say I’ve got… a fascination with them, I guess.”

“All good things,” George says. “Right?”

Dream laughed. “Of course. I’m not— like that.”

“Right,” Sapnap said dubiously. 

“No,” Dream protested, slightly flustered, and he waved a hand, “I just think it’s really interesting how androids are so similar to humans, but they don’t have anywhere near the same rights that humans do, and Congress has been debating so many laws regarding android rights recently, so…”

He trailed off, likely noticing how dumbfounded the expressions on both Sapnap’s and George’s expressions were. “It’s not that interesting, I suppose.”

“No,” George hurried, “It is, I just don’t know that much about it.”

“Ah,” Dream said. “That’s fair.” 

Sapnap elbowed George’s side, hard, and George winced. “That doesn’t mean you have to stop talking.” 

The open expression on Dream’s face halted, and shuttered. For a moment, George felt keenly stripped bare, like someone was seeing directly into him. Dream’s expression returned to the blank, polite one that he wore at the precinct. 

“Really,” he said, “It’s no big deal. That’s one of the reasons why I’m in this job, right? Why did you guys choose this lifestyle, then?”

It was the most obvious way of diverting a conversation. George wasn’t sure what he did to make Dream shut down like that, but it was clear that Sapnap had no idea either. His brows knitted together, and obligingly, he began talking. George fixed his attention on the picnic table and the pizza churned in his stomach.

It was true, what Dream said, but it was uncomfortable to think about. Humans and androids were similar in many ways, but there was always the sick truth, lying beneath it all— androids were nothing more than a mimicry of human life. Deviants, the ones who rebelled, were only one amiss product out of thousands, one line of code malfunctioning. 

That was why, George reasoned, they sometimes appeared so  _ human. _ That was why deviants were dangerous, right?

What was interesting about androids, George found, is that they acted like mirrors. Always reflecting, never changing, never adapted.

For the briefest moment, George made eye contact with Dream. He tilted his head, and something hummed through his body, low and trembling. For a moment, Dream looked so clear-eyed, so— 

The moment passed. Dream gave himself a shake. So did George.

“You okay?” Dream said, a frown knitting his brows together. 

“Fine,” George murmured, and took a sip of water. He tried to clear the fog from his mind.

“George?” Sapnap said, and knocked on George’s head sarcastically. “Anything in there?”

George scowled. Sapnap ruffled his hair, and he knocked his hand away. “I’m fine.”

“Real spaced out there, huh?”

“I’m here,” George muttered, “Don’t worry.” 

Their conversation fell to pieces. Awkwardness hung heavy in the air, enough that even George wanted to wince at it. Sapnap didn’t bother reviving it; as soon as stars began to flicker in the sky, high overhead, he waved them goodbye. 

“See you tomorrow,” Dream said politely, and Sapnap tapped two fingers to his forehead in a salute. 

“Sapnap’s a great guy,” George said awkwardly, when his friend was out of earshot, and regretted saying it instantly. There was no point in making a situation worse. “Sorry tonight was cut so short.”

Dream shrugged. His shoulders were still tense. “It’s fine.”

He ran a hand through his hair, and George’s eyes followed the curve of his shoulder as it moved. Irritably he attempted to push the one curl of hair back into place, but it refused. George thought about running his hands through Dream’s hair as well and firmly ignored it.

“Should we head out?”

“Probably should,” Dream sighed; the pizza place was slowly emptying, as the night continued, and their conversations felt far too loud for the lack of people. “Is your place nearby?”

George nodded, and he went to the car. He caught sight of the moon, full and yellow above the horizon, as he slipped into the passenger seat of Dream’s car. They arrived at George’s apartment before long, and where Dream could have easily waved him goodbye and driven away again, he was kind enough to pull to a stop. The two of them took the elevator up to George’s floor, in quiet, comfortable silence the entire time. George did his best not to stare at Dream; that first day he had compared him to a golden retriever, but now he was so much more than that. In the dim hallway lights, his jawline was shadowed and sharp. George wanted to press his lips to it, bite in. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dream said, standing at George’s door. Bizarrely, George wanted to invite him inside. He wanted to unbutton Dream’s shirt, pull that ridiculous green sweater over his head, kiss him senseless. In the soft light, he was close enough to touch, close enough that George could feel the warmth emanating from his skin.

“Tomorrow,” George nodded, and valiantly suppressed everything that surged in his mind. “Have a good night.”

“Goodnight,” Dream said, and vanished down the hallway. With fumbling, unsteady hands, George let himself into his apartment. He furiously cursed his life. His cat twined around his legs, meowing, and faintly, George bent down to pet her.

It took him all the rest of the night to realize that Dream hadn’t eaten a bite, not all evening. 

* * *

**_December 9th, 2042_ **

The morning dawned, and with it, came a clue.

“Yes,” George sighed, “Finally, a murder.”

Sapnap laughed. “Sentences taken out of context.”

“Shut up,” George waved a hand imperiously, and turned back to Dream, legs kicked up on the desk. A month at the 19th precinct had melted away some of the stiffness, and he seemed much more  _ real  _ now, less like someone who focused entirely on work and nothing else. George much more enjoyed him like this.

“There was a murder at Eden’s Club,” George said. “An  _ android  _ murder.”

Dream raised an eyebrow in intrigue. Eden’s Club was a private club, visited by those looking to fulfill  _ other  _ needs. With neon lights, flashing purple and blue, it was the kind of place where no one looked twice. Anonymity was prized, so the death of an android there was strange.

“Go on.”

“One  _ Traci  _ model was found dead in one of the private rooms,” George repeated, and flicked his hand so the entire police report was illuminated in the air. “It had been bought by a customer who had never visited Eden’s Club before— at the very least, there’s no record of him. The guy purchased a one hour time slot, but he never reappeared. He took a staff door out the back and vanished.”

Dream’s eyes narrowed. “Security cameras?”

“That’s the thing,” George said, and the familiar buzz wormed its way through his system, “They erase the memory of the androids that work there every six hours.”

The spark of mystery was alight in Dream’s eyes, too. “How long ago was the murder?”

George checked the timestamps. “Four and a half hours.”

Dream was already out of his chair. “How long does it take to get to Eden’s Club?”

“Fifteen minutes, with the sirens on.”

Dream’s smile was sharp and his movements were brisk. “Field trip?”

George didn’t bother answering. Instead, he turned to Sapnap and called, “Are the keys to the squad car still in the break room?” 

“Sure are.”

“I’ll grab the keys,” Dream said, and barely waited for George’s response before getting up. 

George wrenched his coat from the hook, wrapped it around himself. Sapnap was the one who had bought it for him, last winter, when George sheepishly admitted that he hadn’t a real winter coat at all. His friend had shoved it in his hands, practically demanding for him to wear it. George was glad for it; frostbite was a real threat, in the sharp Michigan winter, and George had no desire to experience it. He tucked his hands into his pockets and waited for Dream to meet him in the lobby.

He arrived there a few moments later, similarly wrapped up. He dangled the keys to the patrol car from his index finger, and tossed them in a high, clean arc.

“You ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

“You know,” Dream said suddenly, “The navy is a good look on you.”

George glanced down at his coat. He blinked. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Dream said. “You should wear it more often.”

They were standing very, very close. 

“The green is good for you, too,” George blurted, “Brings out your eyes.” 

Said eyes were focused on his. “Really?”

“Yeah,” George breathed. “It’s nice.”

They were standing very, very close. Close enough that Dream’s breath was warm on his cheek. How hard would it be to lean forward? George’s mouth tasted of his morning coffee and the sweet hazelnut creamer the precinct had recently purchased. What would Dream taste like, sweet and sharp? Would he be just as warm as George imagined? 

George cleared his throat and took a step back. “We should probably get going, right? Time is ticking.”

Dream cleared his throat as well. “Sounds good, Lieutenant.”

The way the vowels shaped in his mouth was oddly attractive, like the way Dream’s voice tended to slip off towards the end of the word. George thought he might like to hear Dream call him  _ lieutenant  _ more often.

“George?” Dream called, and George blinked. “You’re coming?”

“Right,” George said. “I’m on my way.”

Outside, snowflakes fluttered from the sky. The parking lot of Detroit’s 19th police precinct was already white. Frost nipped at his fingers and nose. The first snowfall of winter had begun. 

George pulled his coat more tightly around himself and hurried after Dream. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was going to be a full length fic but i lost inspiration partly through. i might post more snippets of this later depending whether people like this or not. 
> 
> if you enjoyed please leave kudos or comments (or subscribe to me on ao3 for the rest of prompt week)! they really make my day <3


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